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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812444">Buried</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icabyppup/pseuds/icabyppup'>icabyppup</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Buried Alive, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Mention of Panic Attacks, No. 4 - running out of time, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:08:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/icabyppup/pseuds/icabyppup</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter never exactly... told Tony about the building incident, exactly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Buried</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, gotta say this one fought me all the way and I'm not super happy with it, but eh. I'll probably write more on this topic in the future, so yeah.<br/>Massive thanks to my darling RookieReporterZ for betaing &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It wasn’t dark. Not completely, at least. Shafts of white light filtered down through gaps in the rubble, blessedly harsh disruptions to the pressing darkness that threatened to swallow Peter entirely otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t quite sure he was there where the light didn’t reach. Like a charcoal sketch, smudged at the edges. He seemed to fade out of existence without proof, like a deity with no worshippers.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>If no one knew you were ever there, did you exist at all?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Time wasn’t right. He could only tell because of the light, the great swirls of concrete powder painting patterns in the air where it reached. Usually smooth and hypnotic, the particles jumped around like a poorly shot stop-motion film as Peter lost time then gained it. Seconds slipstreamed around him like water over a foil. He was isolated in his own little bubble, drifting fuzzier and fuzzier while the shadows cut deep where the light didn’t touch.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe that was the metal beams that had come down in the chaos. Hard to say.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He let his gaze drift, skipping between the pools of light. Grey concrete, dust and his fingertips. Airy insulation still attached to cladding, the firebrick red of his suit stained burgundy. Little snapshots of real, solid, </span>
  <em>
    <span>heavy, crushing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>amongst the drowsy weightlessness.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As he focussed in on them, his edges pulled back into himself. His shape felt more defined, the blood bitter in his mouth, his lungs working, expanding painfully against the tight breathlessness that tugged on his chest and in the base of his skull. Like a camera lens blurring into focus. The sharper he became, the more it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was something, heading that way, that was important. If he took that road, maybe it could become more clear. But that road was bright and burnt and tasted like ash. Not good burnt-out-campfire ash but something acrid and </span>
  <em>
    <span>chemical,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a fire sustained not with wood but with kerosene.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Was it really that important, whatever it was, that he had to go there? His mind reached a thought out and it caught fire. It made his skin feel tight and his chest too small and his head </span>
  <em>
    <span>spinspinspin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Surely he didn’t need it that badly.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He drifted off into the charcoal-smudge-vagueries of only maybe existing.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Peter woke, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>bright.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His whole field of vision was washed out in white with overtones of sterile and sharp. The bottom of his body was badly defined but intact, and his head felt about two inches to the right of where it was meant to be. He was moored to consciousness with a thin thread.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, you can sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The reassuring voice came from somewhere off the side of what he could see, and he didn’t try to find it. It was familiar, tones slightly rough at the bottom in a way that had his heart focussing in.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He trusted the voice and stopped fighting the ebb and flow of sleep. Pulled the thread in and let the waves carry him out again.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was still bright. The same bright. Peter’s consciousness rallied, scattered thoughts banding together to form a type of cognizance.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Medbay bright.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Yeah, that made sense.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, why was he in the Medbay?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Peter tried to cast his mind back, to very little success. The thoughts centre of his brain was just booting up, it would take a while for the part that handled timelines to get going and arrange his memories into something resembling a chronology.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his head to the side slowly, mindful of any head injuries he may not remember receiving.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The man sitting next to him looked like garbage, which was a pretty clear indicator that he was worried. Which wasn’t exactly unusual, but still.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Stark, what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The billionaire turned to him, a tried for a tight smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Pete. How you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Peter scrunched his nose and took a quick inventory.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. A bit woozy, but I assume I’m still a bit drugged.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A slight awkward pause.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Peter asked again, and Mr Stark rubbed the crease between his brows.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we leave it until you’re feeling a bit better?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t sound good.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Stark, what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to let it go until I say it will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was a slight edge of fear now, sharpening in the back of his mind. What could have happened that was so bad?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Stark sighed again.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You were on patrol. Some idiots were trying to rob a house using stolen explosives that, surprise surprise, they hadn’t read the manual for. The building came down on top of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s chest tightened on the phrase ‘building came down’, and Tony paused for a moment, to his face.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Karen called me, told me what happened, and I cancelled my four o’clock to pull you out of the rubble.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The billionaire tried for another smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something else. Peter had an inkling of what it could be.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Stark, are you telling me everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was a tiny crack in his don’t-worry mask.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You really want to do this now?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Stark put his head in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. You were unconscious when I pulled you out of the rubble, but you woke up just after I got you here. You started panicking. Shaking, fighting, babbling a bunch of stuff that didn’t make sense. You almost went full-blown panic attack -  we had to sedate you to check you over.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t remember that, but it did make sense. Hated it, but it made sense.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Then… Then I asked Karen what had you so worked up.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His mentor looked up, and Peter was shocked to see that his eyes were glassy.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She told me that this had happened before. That you’d been stuck under a collapsed building. I asked for the footage, and she said that she didn’t have any. That you’d mentioned it to her in passing and told her it happened on homecoming night.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed before finishing with, “When you didn’t have your suit.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Oh</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That was a memory that Peter tried very hard to ignore, forget or otherwise avoid, thank you very much. He had locked that in a box within a box within a box and shoved those boxes at the very back of the archive of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In a broom cupboard.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And it mainly worked. Most of the time, he didn’t think about that night at all. Only sometimes, when the beams in May’s apartment ceiling creaked, he felt like he was choking on dust and rubble and the smell of cement-</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tony was touching the back of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Uh, yeah. That.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked worried.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The silence was heavy. Peter looked away.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete,” his name sounded like something between devastation and a plea, “why didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because he never wanted to think about it again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, it just never really… seemed relevant.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tony searched out his gaze, and Peter avoided it.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, kid, look at me. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitantly raised his eyes. Tony smiled something small and tired and sad.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to tell me things like this, okay? Even if you don’t think it’s ‘relevant’, I need to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned forward slightly, taking Peter’s hand properly now.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know. So please talk to me, Pete. Nothing’s ever stupid, or unimportant. Especially if it’s something to have a panic attack over.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tony’s expression contorted.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of panic attacks, does that happen often?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shook his head. It didn’t, really.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good. I’m glad. But please, kid, tell me when it does, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced away again.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid, please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” He whispered, “okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Mr Stark sounded like he had the air punched out of him. He clasped Peter’s hand in both of his.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete. You know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll always listen.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Great, now he was teary as well.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I do.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! I would very very very much appreciate a comment, it would seriously help my motivation and my general writingness &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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